An Unexpected Encounter
by Electricity Today
Summary: A story in which Tony Stark unwillingly performs acts of community service at the local veterans' recovery center in order to save his company. Tony accidentally manages to trigger a young war veteran's PTSD attack. This veteran, Steve Rogers, seems to capture the heart of the billionaire, much to Tony's surprise and regret. (Pre-Serum Steve Rogers?)


"Yo, Pep. I thought I told you not to call at this hour," Tony Stark muttered, phone pressed in between his ear and his shoulder. His phone was a bit uncomfortable there, to say the least. But Tony was busy using his hands to finish up a project. Using a clamp wrench, he tightened the metal clamps with little persistence. He was frankly a little annoyed that he wasn't yet done with the damn thing. With one last shove from the wrench and a loud _clunk_ noise, the clamps on his machine were put in place.

He hummed a little in satisfaction, and then took the phone in his hand to continue talking to his resilient redhead bestie.

Though, he'd probably get a slap if he ever said "bestie" to her face.

" _Tony,"_ barked Pepper on the other line, " _Are you still in your workshop? You might want to take a break for this."_

"For what?"

" _For what great information I have for you."_

"Am I in trouble?"

" _Not yet."_

Breathing out a puff of air, Tony seated himself at his desk. He drummed his fingers against the glass irritably, leaving little smudge marks on the surface. He replied, "Who did I piss off this time?"

" _The Board of Directors. Again."_

"I hate those guys. What is it they want this time?"  
" _You need to do some community service."_

Tony choked, "E-Excuse me?"  
" _The Board is filing multiple complaints about neglecting to give to the community. It seems that all the other big companies are saving the animals, or making hospices, or housing veterans. It goes on."_

"Hold up one second, Pepper. Are you saying that the Board of Directors is mad at me because Stark Industries doesn't do what everybody else does?"

" _Not exactly. You see, you need more publicity, Tony. It seems the world views you as some rich snob, which you_ can be _at times. But those rumors don't make money, in fact, they're losing money. The reason why our sales have gone down? That's because of your occasional egotistical demeanor."_

"What about our charity galas?"

" _The only people on the invite lists are celebrities and congressmen."_

Tony bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to roll his eyes, "So in order to boost sales, I have to send out some workers to clean up the environment or whatever?"

" _No, Tony._ You _have to do community service."_

" _Me?!"_ the engineer exclaimed, slamming a fist on his glass desk, "God, Pep, I don't wanna."

" _Come on, how bad could it be?"_

"Terrible. Some homeless guy might mug me, I might have to go days without alcohol, I might get pecked to death by seagulls while trying to clean up the beaches!"  
" _Okay, so you're not digging beaches. That's fine. You could help out at hospitals, that's what Hammer does."_

"No." Tony barked, shaking his head, "For one, I'm not doing anything amongst the likes of that mountebank nark."

He paused a moment. He looked out of the wide expanse window to his left, gazing down at the beautiful city beneath him. Manhattan was certainly a bustling city, lights on and off and then on again. It was a cosmopolitan sanctuary. Tony loved Manhattan. But he wasn't looking at the lively j-walkers nor the hurrying cars, at least, lot directly.

His expression was lost; his mind somewhere else. He was thinking of his mother, the sweet flower of his life. She who was so perfect, so essential to Tony's happiness. She who had died three years prior, pale as the hospital sheets beneath her.

"Two, you know how I am with hospitals." Tony said after a moment of silence. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. But the feeling of Maria Stark's hand going cold lingered in his mind.

" _It doesn't have to be a hospital,"_ said Pepper, bringing Tony back to reality, " _I emailed you a couple of suggestions that might appeal to you. Try not to do anything to bizarre, Tony. Talk to me before you do something dumb you might regret."_

She hung up.

Tony paused, dumbfounded. Great. Just great.

He flipped open his laptop and opened the email tab. "2,348 New Messages." It read. He rolled his eyes and searched for Pepper's contact and then limited down things from there. Her email read:

 _You usually don't check your email, so I don't know if you're reading this right now. If you are, I've compiled a list of community work that I think you'll be able to handle. Contact me after this._

There was a post-script:

 _P.S. Seriously, contact me. Don't mess this up, Stark._

Tony smiled to himself. Oh Pepper, oh sweet, overbearing Pepper.

He gazed at the small list, frowning a little at the limitations. Tony never really did like charities because of all the enthusiasm involved. If Hammer were to donate money to a hospital or whatever, he'd be doing something good. _But,_ the next day, he'd come strolling in bragging about how he saved lives, and Tony didn't. And those who receive the money, they just wallow in self-pity, having acknowledged that they can't help themselves. Charities were absolutely bogus.

And yet, here he sat, contemplating the pros and cons of each one.

 _Help out at the local library_

That didn't seem so hard. Except the fact that it was entirely lame and Tony would probably be shunned for it.

 _Soup Kitchen_

This one, Tony knew he could manage. Soup kitchen stunts were easy to pull off. Plus, it would make Stark Industries look good. But the thought of wearing a hair net and serving fake food to smelly people changed Tony's mind.

 _Write Letters to Children's Hospices_

This option should appeal to Tony, and yet, it didn't. He felt a tug at his gut, imagining dying children reading trivial, careless notes. Dying children. No, he couldn't deal with that.

" _Adopt-A-Senior"_

He's heard of this option before. If he were to accept, Tony would visit a senior citizen twice a week, bringing food or a game of chess or whatever. It was a sweet enough idea, but Tony couldn't place the fate of Stark Industries in wrinkled, shaking, elderly hands.

 _Donate to WWF_

This could be a winner. Everyone loved cute animals. Even if Tony were to donate a small amount of money, the thought would be enough to save his public representation. Tony was about to tell Pepper all about his decision, but then then the last option captured his attention.

 _Visit/Help out at a recovering veterans center_

Other than Rhodey, a retired air force lieutenant, Tony had never taken interest in any veteran.

He understood how much a veteran cared for his country, and frankly, he respected that. Tony had issues with committing to things, so he really admired the determination a veteran possesses. Not to mention, the self-perseverance in the event of war itself.

Tony had managed to keep his wits about him when he was in Afghanistan. It wasn't until after the three months of abuse that his fear and depression began to settle in. He took intense therapy sessions and they barely helped the nightmares. Tony constantly lived in the shadow of his unfathomable memories that he loathed to the core.

And now that he thinks of it, veterans most likely go through the same thing.

Tony straightened his back abruptly. He opened a new tab on his laptop screen and typed in "Veterans Centre near me."

"Bingo," he said to himself. He now knew what charity would save his company.

* * *

"I really do wish you had taken longer to decide," muttered Pepper. She was applying her makeup simultaneously walking at a brisk pace down the street. The sharp _tap tap_ of her heels echoed, even amongst all the noisy clatter of a Manhattan Monday morning. She was clearly annoyed. After stuffing a tube of mascara down her purse, Pepper scowled directly at Tony, "I hardly had enough time to call in the local press and entertainment! What was it that made you chose so quickly, huh?"  
"I was thinking of Rhodey, actually," Tony smirked. He led her down the crowded street, holding Pepper's coffee as she scolded him. He was actually biting his tongue trying not to laugh at Pepper's desperate makeup attempts. Her face was a mess.

"Rhodey, you say." Pepper hummed, taking her coffee from Tony, "How come?"  
"The whole 'veterans' deal, you know." Tony answered, not really wanting to spill the truth, "Tell me, Peppercorn, is it just gonna be old people veterans that I'm working with?"

"No. I remember you saying how much a senior citizen could mess up your charity work. That's rude, you know."

Tony smiled.

Pepper rolled her eyes, "So to make sure you wouldn't cuss out somebody's grandpa, I made sure that the veterans you'll visit are those that're just back from their short-term services. You shouldn't see anyone over the age of fifty."

"Thanks, Pep. I owe you one."

"You owe me a lot more than that," she mused. Pepper grabbed Tony's elbow, pulling him at a sharp angle down the street. The building they walked up to had a sign that read, "Fury's Veteran Recovery Centre." The whole place seemed a bit shabby, with dusted walls and creaky wood. It seemed a bit sad that brave souls who have just risked their lives for their country resided in an unhealthy environment. When Tony got back from Afghanistan, at least he was able to live in luxury again.

He shook his head. He wasn't here to think about that, he was here to make a few extra bucks. That's what this is all about right?

'Fury,' he mouthed to Pepper, who rolled her eyes. He pushed open the creaky door and held it open for Pepper.

A woman at the front desk looked up from her computer, "May I help you?"

Pepper answered for the both of them, "Tony Stark here from Stark Industries. We're here for-"

"Oh, yes, yes." the woman exclaimed, cutting her off, "The press and the entertainment group you ordered are already waiting in the living room. It's down there, to the left."

"Yes, thank you, miss," Pepper said in a sweet tone. Tony followed her down the hall, his hands in his pockets. Pepper slapped his hands away from his pants and straightened his tie, "Tony, what's the matter with you? Have at least a _little_ bit of etiquette will you?"

Tony smirked and ran fidgeted with his tie, getting it all messy again.

"They're _war veterans_ Peppercorn. I don't think they're gonna care how I dress," he said as he walked into the so-called living room. It lacked the _living_ part. Bare, old furniture, and dusty curtains. Yep. This is the best that this place has to offer.

A press crew was huddled in a corner, conversing amongst each other and sipping coffee. Pepper took a seat in a nearby chair whilst Tony marched over to the clad, "Okay," he said, clapping his hands, "Let's get down the business. How about just getting a couple of shots of me and some veterans and stuff, then our work will be done, okay?"

Without waiting for the press's affirmation, Tony turned around and looked to who he had to work with. Nobody. There was nobody in the living room. Nobody besides the press, the camera crew, Pepper, the entertainment (who is really only a balloon selling guy) and two young men playing chess at a small table.

Looking closer at the men, Tony noticed arm bands around their army jacket sleeves. One of them was wearing an army cap. The other was even wearing a few badges. This man with the badges, the taller one, had dark locks tied up in a bun behind his head. His eyes were quick and looked deceiving as he plotted out his next move in their game. The most noticeable aspect of this man, however, was that he only had one arm. One of his sleeves was tied up in a knot at the top, indicating that there was nothing left but a stub of an elbow.

Tony felt a pang of sorrow in his heart, looking at this man. He shouldn't, he knew it was wrong to stare and to judge off of looks. But he still felt pity for this strong, brave, veteran.

The other man, the smaller one, didn't look a day over twenty-two years old. His hair was fair, his frame was thin, and he had a cane resting at his knee. He looked tired, very tired. He didn't look tired in the sleep-deprived kind of way, and he didn't look tired like Tony after spending too much time in the workshop, he just looked tired, like _sad_ tired. And yet, he was smiling. That kind of sorrowful smile that indicates one's hiding something.

The other veteran picked up a bishop and placed it somewhere else on the chessboard, "Check."

The blonde man paused, dumbfounded, he moved his king to the left.

They played like that for a little while, neither of them saying anything except an occasional "check" or "dang it." The blonde didn't seem to be very good at the game, but that was only from what Tony could see. The one-armed man didn't seem to mind much, he just went on playing at a slow pace with simple strategies.

Deciding he'd observed (sadly, a little creepily) for long enough, Tony made up his mind and went over to them.

"Good evening. My name's Tony Stark, you've probably heard of me," he stuck out his hand politely. Both heads turned to stare at him: the blonde stared surprisedly, while the taller man stared defensively. He put his one hand on the smaller veteran's shoulder, as if protecting him from some invisible force.

So it was the smaller veteran with the cane that placed his hand in Tony's, "Good evening to you, too, Sir." His voice was deeper than what Tony would've expected of this shriveled man. He was as small as a kid. His eyes were sincere as he said this, a little less tired.

He looked to the man with the badges, his eyes softened. The other man's eyes deepened, less terrifying when looking back at the blonde. They were communicating through eye contact, an art Tony was never able to manage. So he stood there awkwardly, patting a random rhythm on his thigh.

The young blonde with the hat turned back to Tony, "My name is Steve Rogers, and this is…. James Barnes."

The big man, James Barnes, still had his arm around the other one, Steve Rogers. From the looks of it, Barnes was shielding him from Tony. Tony bit the inside of his cheek, he didn't like the way this Barnes guy was glaring right through him. He was acting as if Steve were in danger by Tony's mere presence. He was protecting him.

"You kids like balloons?" he asked abruptly, "I hired a guy to make balloons and stuff because I was imagining a banquet would be here for some reason. Do you guys ever have banquets?"

Steve looked a little surprised, "N-No. We don't have banquets."

"That's exactly why you need balloons," Tony made sure that the entertainment guy was forging balloons, then he pulled up a seat beside their table. He looked to the scattered chess pieces and determined that Barnes was winning, Rogers had lost nearly all of his pieces. Tony waited for them to continue their game, but the veterans just sat there awkwardly. Steve lifted his hand, as if to move a chess piece, and then put it back down, unsure if he were allowed to play in Tony's presence.

Barnes, on the other hand tightened his grip on Rogers' shoulder.

Geez. Tony reached over to Pepper and snatched her coffee. He swallowed down a large gulp, painfully. She was infuriated and started scolding him, but he wasn't really listening. He just threw a few smiles at the camera crew while they took pictures of the trio.

 **BANG.**

The entertainment guy had stepped on a balloon. The sound it emitted was far more frightening than it should be, especially compared to the quiet living room environment.

 _Clink._ Steve had dropped one of his chess pieces, his hand shaking violently. He tried to stand up, but without the cane, his legs gave out beneath him. He fell to the floor with a _thud._ Steve was perched on the ground and heaving violently, " _Two more planes coming in!"_

He writhed there as a broken man, more like an injured animal. He was clutching his chest with both hands and clawing at it. _Clawing_ so harshly that he was undoubtedly making his chest bleed. In one shaking fist, he grasped onto the fallen chess piece. He raised the piece to his mouth and screamed at it as he would a radio transmitter, " _Watch your tail! They're coming in!_ _ **Two more planes coming in!"**_

Barnes was all over him, trying to pin his arms down, trying to hold him still. But it was incredibly difficult with one arm. He was saying things, maybe comforting hums or maybe indifferent commands; Tony wasn't paying attention to him. Rogers was batting his hands away and sobbing. He went back and forth from covering his ears and begging for the war to stop, to screaming into the chess piece for more backup.

The scene was much more than pitiful, it was unbearable.

Without any foreknowledge or thoughts processing, Tony got down on the ground beside him, helping to pin him down. Steve tried rolling away in all directions, but with three arms shoving his tiny shoulder blades into the ground, he wasn't going anywhere. Tony struggled to keep his hands still as Steve shook his head rapidly, tears streaming down his face. His hands slipped many times. Tony grabbed hard onto the young man's shoulder blade, pushing it down with everything he has to offer.

Holding the shaking limb in his fists, Tony realized how _small_ Steve is. His skin clings directly off the bones. Tony could see in high-definition the _pulse_ on Steve's neck. His cheeks are sunken in, as if he hadn't eaten in a while. And _oh Tesla those cries he was making._ The noise was desperate, wailing. He was so scared. So very scared. And yet, there was no enemy here except his imagination.

Unless of course, Steve counts Tony as the enemy. Tony _did_ just bring in the object which triggered his flashback episode.

Something lurched in the billionaire's stomach, thinking of the young veteran fearing him. The very idea made him sick. Tony didn't know why, but he couldn't let Steve think awful things about him. He doesn't even know Steve. Steve is a stranger. Tony normally doesn't give two cents about what other people care about him, especially the common public. And somehow, Tony wants a good impression on _this_ stranger.

It's probably not a good impression if he's pinning him down to the floor right now.

Eventually, after a minute of frantic suffering, Steve finally gave in. He set his head down on the floor with defeat. He took in painfully large gasps for air, followed by more shuddering breaths until he started calming. But his breathing was still ragged and uneven.

"Grab his inhaler!" shouted Barnes to someone on the press crew. He then turned back to his fallen friend; oblivious to Tony's stares; and his eyes softened. He took off Steve's cap, "You okay there, captain?"  
Steve gave a grunt.

"Your chest hurtin'?"

"Mhm.." he was still twitching, his breathing was uneven and rushed. He was still clutching the chess piece, but now his real focus was directed at James. Barnes used his one arm to brush strands of hair behind Steve's ear and murmur comforting things.

Tony felt someone tap his back. He turned around to see a ginger-haired man from the camera crew. He handed Tony a little, plastic device.

"His inhaler," he said, "It would make for a good photo if you give it to him."

Tony's brain wasn't processing when he took the inhaler in his hands. He still wasn't thinking when he dipped it into the curves of Rogers' quivering lips. He must've said something. His voice hummed as if he were talking, his mouth was moving, but he didn't know what it was he was saying. Maybe some comforting words to this poor veteran.

James was looking at him, his mouth was moving, his eyes were glaring. But Tony was only focused on Steve, who inhaled greedily at the medicine. His chest rose and fell repeatedly, until slowing to a normal pace. His body was no longer wracked with heaves. Only his hands which held the chess piece shook, but it was a gentle motion that they moved in.

Steve placed his elbows to the ground, sitting himself up.

Bucky placed his hand on his shoulder, helping him up steadily.

"Hey punk, stay with me," Barnes mumbled, pulling his companion close to his side.

"What year is it, Steve?" he asked.

"Two-thousand… Two-thousand and eighteen."

"That's right. Can you tell me the shade of your eyes without looking in a mirror?"

"Blue."

"What's your middle name?"

"Grant."

"What's my middle name?"

"Buchanan."

The veterans went on in this practice for a little while. Steve was beginning to pull himself back together. It was sweet, Tony watching the two friends. Barnes clearly took good care of Rogers, like a sort of protective guardian. Tony then smiled a bit, thinking of Barnes having protected Rogers on the battlefield. He imagined Barnes dragging him along, running to the sidelines while Rogers screamed and protested, saying he wanted to go back and help. That seemed like the right scenario for these buddies.

Steve tried to take a step away, but then his knees buckled from under him. Barnes caught him by the armpits just in the nick of time. Tony then spotted Steve's cane, lying a little bit away from their chess table. He picked it up gingerly, as if it would break responding to his normally firm grip. But the thing felt sturdy enough; it was warm from Steve's body heat.

He looked back around to Steve, who was pressed up against James' side saying, "I'm fine, Bucky, I'm fine."

"Hey!" Tony said.

Steve looked over to him wide-eyed, with the same expression he'd given Tony when they first met. He was tired and sad, it seemed. Steve didn't remember who Tony was, he could tell. Nevertheless, Tony marched right up to him and held out the cane, "Hey, Cinderella. I think you dropped your slipper."

This triggered a tsunami of "awws" from the press crew, all of which had either captured that moment on a camera or a audio recorder. Pepper shook her head, but she was undeniably amused by Tony's little stunt. Barnes, or "Bucky," as Steve had called him (Tesla, what an awful name), raised an eyebrow. But his eyes were indifferent; Tony knew that he was going to die at the hands-er, _hand-_ of this man.

Steve, though, wasn't angered. Instead, he just gingerly took his cane and muttered a "Thank you."

The painful grinding of Tony's insides dismissed and were replaced by lightness. A light, empty void within his chest and stomach, occasionally fluttering with the pitter-patter of butterflies. His cheeks felt warm.

 _Thank you._ He repeated in his head. Steve _thanked_ him. It felt so warm, so inviting. And Tony loved it.

He suddenly realized that he was probably standing around, blushing like an idiot.

"No, no, no," Tony recovered, waving his hand, "Thank _you_ , for your service, I appreciate it." he smiled. Steve actually smiled back.

" _Aaaaaaaaaaaand that's a wrap!_ Cut and hold everyone!" shouted the ginger cameraman.

"What…?" breathed Rogers, backing up into the other veteran. Barnes gripped onto his friend again, glaring at the camera crew, "Stevie, Mr. Stark was just tryin' to make a few extra bucks. Don't thank him for nuthin'."

What? No. No. No. _No._ Tony wasn't doing this for the money. He was here for the little veteran. He liked Steve. He _helped_ Steve. He wanted Steve to be safe and happy; he deserves it doesn't he? Tony didn't do it just so he'd be famous, _he already is._

The engineer's eyes darted back and forth between the veterans, "No!" he said, "Steve, it's not-I'm-I'm not-... James-No, _Bucky_ is wrong, Steve. I'm no poser, okay? I-I'm here, and I'm doing this of my own free will."  
"Doing _what?"_ roared Bucky, in a defensive position, " _Thanking us for our service while getting a photoshoot done?_ Do you have _any_ idea how _alien_ that makes us feel compared to the rest of society? We've already been shoved into this asylum because the government thinks we can't make enough money for ourselves. We're ordered therapy, as if we can't manage on our own. We're not broken people, we're not war heroes that assuaged in glory on some battlefront. I'm tired of people like you, making us feel like we don't belong, making us feel like works of military history, detached from society. To think we risked our lives for you! We're still people, and you can't just toy with people, Stark!"

The words sunk in. And they hurt. Suddenly, Tony felt all alone.

When people suffer a great blow, like a shock, or a loss of a limb, they don't feel it at first. Much like how Tony never felt the marks from Afghanistan until he was safe at home. Tony felt no pain, no fear, no horror in his heart. At the moment he is nothing, he has no heart, no mind and no senses. He was then shocked at the lack of emotion and the cold absence of distress. Little by little, the feeling will come back to him, he realized, little by little will he understand.

And little by little will the realization of what actually happened sink in. Tony had just watched a post-traumatic-stress-disorder attack play out in front of him. And he had helped. He had helped a poor, broken man find at least a little bit of sanity. Then he said something offensive, and was shunned.

Steve probably loathed him now, Tony realized. But he didn't _want_ Steve to hate him, he wanted Steve to _thank him_ again. He felt it important that Steve should know that Tony was no villain here. He wanted Steve to know that, he wanted him to feel free to say "thank you" again.

Tony couldn't explain these ideas, even if he tried. All he knew was that he wanted Steve to know he was a great guy. He wanted to be a great guy for Steve. And he didn't even know Steve. Steve was a stranger. A nice stranger. A veteran stranger. A stranger who risked his life. A stranger who needed help.

Bucky tugged Steve's arm roughly, "C'mon Stevie, let's go back to our rooms."

"Just a minute, Buck,"

"Steve-"

Steve then dropped his voice low, very low. So low, in fact, that Tony was unable to hear what he said. He was leaning up into Bucky's ear when he said it, doing this actually required him to stand up on the tips of his toes. He lingered there a moment after the hushed whisper. Then Steve hobbled over to Tony on his cane, while Bucky disappeared down the hallway.

"Did you really mean what you said?" asked Steve, eagerly.

"Uh… Can you narrow it down?" Tony responded.

"Oh, right, whoops," Steve took another big breath, "Did you mean it when you said you appreciated my service?"

Tony felt his heart begin to pitter-patter, "Yes, of course I meant it. I never lie!"

Crap.

"I take that back. I lie, but not about important things. Wait-no, oops. That's not what I meant. I meant, yes, I lie, sometimes, occasionally, when it's necessary, and yes, your service counts as an important thing. Maybe. Kinda. I'm not sure right now, hell, I'm not sure of anything. But I wasn't lying about what I said. I appreciate your service."

The blonde's face lit up for a moment, he didn't look so tired anymore. Instead, his eyes were full of wonder, having been encouraged. A sliver of a smile escaped him, "Well, then. Thank you, so much."

This _thank you_ didn't feel as inviting.

"Hey, now," Tony said, "What're you thanking me for? Didn't your pal, Bucky, there just explain that you hated all the indirect attention?"

"That's… That's not what he meant, Mr. Stark," Steve said in a whispering tone, "Bucky just feels out of place when he's put under the spotlight, that's all. He has the tendency to overthink things. And, for the record, he was only speaking for himself."

"What? What do you me-"

"-I mean, that Bucky's just so protective, he sometimes speaks for the both of us. If 'both of us' means 'just him.' I always appreciate it when I'm thanked; I hardly ever am. I think it's because I'm so small and sickly, you know?"  
"That's no excuse!" Tony snapped, "You deserve to be thanked by every American citizen for your service! I have no doubt in my body that you were the best of everyone in your rank. I think you could beat up guys twice your size!...Which, frankly, isn't that tall of an opponent. Hah. No, just kidding. I'm just joshing. You know I'm just kidding, right? I appreciate your service, you're the best veteran I've ever met."

"Aw, can it," the kid muttered in a Brooklyn accent, "You're making me sound like a hero or something."

"But you are a-"

"No, I'm not, Mr. Stark. I'm far from it. I'm small, I'm weak, I'm not smart, I'm not good looking. I couldn't save my comrades when they needed me. I tried saving Bucky, but he lost his arm. I grew too sick and shell-shocked on the battlefield that I was forced to resign early. I'm sick! I'm weak! And I'm not-" he dropped the intensity, "I'm not a hero"

"What're you talking about, Rogers? You're a hero, through and through. I think it's important that you know how much appreciation I have for your efforts."

Tony perched kneeling, grasping both of the veteran's forearms, "What is it you want, Rogers? Anything you want, name it. I'll get it to you. What do you want? Money? Clothes? A house? Do you want the moon? I'm not George Bailey, I can't lasso it. But I can do some haggling with NASA, and then-"

Steve was no longer looking at Tony. He was staring through the ground, "Mr. Stark?"

"Yes? What is it?" Tony sputtered.

"Please take your arms off me. It hurts,"

No. No. No. _No._ He messed up again.

Tony took off his hands. Slowly, gingerly. He didn't, however, rise from his kneeling position. He was beginning to shake, much resembling the young veteran earlier.

"I'm so sorry, Captain Rogers."

Captain Rogers. A very cruel, unwelcoming name. Tony Stark choked saying it. Tears were threatening to fall. He fought them back when trying again, "Whatever you want, I'll get it to you. I promise,"

"You already gave it to me, Mr. Stark," Steve smiled, "You appreciate my service. That's all I needed to hear."

"Rogers-"

Steve put up a hand, silencing him. The young veteran wavered there a moment, pausing on his cane. He let out a heavy breath.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yes?"

"I'd appreciate it if you never come back here again. Have a safe trip home."

And with that, he hobbled away. His skinny cane and tiny feet going _step, tap. Step, tap. Step, tap._ He left Tony there, kneeling on the ground and sobbing.

* * *

 **A bit of this story was inspired by a chapter from Daphne Du Maurier's novel,** **Rebecca.** **Here is the MLA for it:**  
Du Maurier, Daphne. _Rebecca_. Doubleday, 1936.


End file.
